“I brought this case up for a reason. I gather that Weeks bought some of these properties for next to nothing because the guy who had the options on them was desperate for cash.”
“Anyone I know?”
“Your favorite client, Skip Reardon.”
Geoff shrugged. “We travel in close circles, Dad, you know that. It’s just one more way Skip Reardon was pushed down the tube. I remember Tim Farrell talking at the time about how Skip was liquidating everything for his defense. On paper, Skip’s financial picture looked great, but he had a lot of optioned land, a heavy construction mortgage on an extravagant house and a wife who seemed to think she was married to King Midas. If Skip hadn’t gone to prison, he’d be a rich man today, because he was a good businessman. But my recollection is that he sold off all the options for fair market value.”
“Not fair market if the purchaser has privileged information,” his father said tartly. “One of the rumors I heard is that Haskell, who was Weeks’ accountant even then, was aware of that transaction too. Anyhow it’s one of those pieces of information that may be useful some way, some day.”
Before Geoff could comment, a chorus of voices from outside the study shouted, “Grandpa, Uncle Geoff, dinner’s ready.”
“And it has come, the summons, kind . . . ,” Edward Dorso quoted as he stood and stretched.
“Go ahead, Dad, I’ll be right behind you. I want to check my messages.” When he heard Kerry’s husky, low voice on the answering machine tape, he pressed the receiver to his ear.
Was Kerry actually saying that she wanted to go to the prison and see Skip again? That she wanted to have his mother and Beth Taylor there? “Hallelujah!” he said aloud.
Grabbing Justin, his nephew who had been sent to get him, Geoff scrambled to the dining room, where he knew his mother was impatiently waiting for everyone to sit down so that grace could be offered.
When his father had concluded the blessing, his mother added, “And we’re so grateful to have Marian and Don and the twins with us.”
“Mother, it’s not as though we live at the North Pole,” Marian protested, winking at Geoff. “Boston is about three and a half hours away.”
“If your mother had her way, there’d be a family compound,” his father commented with an amused smile. “And you’d all be right here, under her watchful eye.”
“You can all laugh at me,” his mother said, “but I love seeing my whole family together. It’s wonderful to have three of you girls settled, and Vickey with a steady boyfriend as nice as Kevin.”
Geoff watched as she beamed at that couple.
“Now if I could just get our only son to find the right girl . . .” Her voice trailed off as everyone turned to smile indulgently at Geoff.
Geoff grimaced, then smiled back, reminding himself that when his mother wasn’t riding this horse, she was a very interesting woman who had taught medieval literature at Drew University for twenty years. In fact, he had been named Geoffrey because of her great admiration for Chaucer.
Between courses, Geoff slipped back into the den and phoned Kerry. He was thrilled to realize that she sounded glad to hear from him.
“Kerry, can you go down and see Skip tomorrow? I know his mother and Beth will drop everything to be there when you come.”
“I want to, Geoff, but I don’t know if I can. I’d be a wreck leaving Robin, even at Cassie’s house. The kids are always outside, and it’s right on an exposed corner.”
Geoff didn’t know he had the solution until he heard himself say, “Then I’ve got a better idea. I’ll pick you both up, and we can leave Robin here with my folks while we’re away. My sister and her husband and their kids are here. And because of them, the other grandchildren will be dropping by. Robin will have plenty of company, and if that isn’t enough, my brother-in-law is a captain in the Massachusetts State Police. Believe me, she’ll be safe.”
Saturday, November 4th
70
Jason Arnott lay sleepless most of the night, wrestling with trying to decide how to treat the call from Assistant Prosecutor Kerry McGrath, even, as she so delicately put it, in an “unofficial” capacity.
By 7:00 A.M. he’d made up his mind. He would return her call and, in a courteous, civil, but distant tone, inform her that he would be delighted to meet with her, provided it would not take too long. His excuse would be that he was about to leave on a business trip.
To the Catskills, Jason promised himself. I’ll hide out at the house. Nobody will find me there. In the meantime, this will all blow over. But I can’t look as though I have anything to be concerned about.
The decision made, he finally fell into a sound sleep, the kind of sleep he enjoyed after he had successfully completed a mission and knew he was home free.
He called Kerry McGrath first thing when he woke up at nine-thirty. She picked up on the first ring. He was relieved to hear what seemed to be genuine gratitude in her tone.
“Mr. Arnott, I really appreciate your calling, and I assure you this is unofficial,” she said. “Your name came up as having been a friend and antiques expert for Suzanne Reardon, years ago. Something has developed about that case, and I’d very much appreciate an opportunity to talk to you about the relationship you saw between Suzanne and her father, Dr. Charles Smith. I promise, I’ll only take a few minutes of your time.”
She meant it. Jason could spot a phony, had made a career of it, and she wasn’t a phony. It wouldn’t be hard to talk about Suzanne, he told himself. He frequently had shopped with her the way he shopped with Vera Shelby Todd yesterday. She had been at many of his parties, but so had dozens of other people. No one could make anything of that.
Jason was totally amenable to Kerry’s explanation that she had a firm commitment to be picked up at one and would so much appreciate visiting him within the hour.
71
Kerry decided to bring Robin with her when she drove to Jason Arnott’s house. She knew that it had upset Robin to see her struggling with Bob the night before over the copy of the Haskell note, and she reasoned that the drive to Alpine would give them a half hour each way to chat. She blamed herself for the scene with Bob. She should have realized that there was no way he would let her have the note. Anyhow, she knew what it said. She had jotted it down just as she had seen it so she could show it to Geoff later.
It was a sunny, crisp day, the kind, she thought, that renews the spirit. Now that she knew she had to look seriously into the Reardon case and really see it through, she was determined to do it quickly.
Robin willingly had agreed to come along for the ride, although she pointed out that she wanted to be back by noon. She wanted to invite Cassie over for lunch.
Kerry then told her about the plan for her to visit Geoff’s family while she went to Trenton on business.
“Because you’re worried about me,” Robin said matter-of-factly.
“Yes,” Kerry admitted. “I want you where I know you’ll be okay, and I know you’ll be fine with the Dorsos. Monday, after I drop you off at school, I’ll have a talk with Frank Green about all this. Now, Rob, when we get to Mr. Arnott’s house, you come in with me, but you do know I have to talk privately to him. You brought a book?”
“Uh-huh. I wonder how many of Geoff’s nieces and nephews will be there today. Let’s see, he has four sisters. The youngest isn’t married. The one next to Geoff has three kids, a boy who’s nine—he’s the one closest to my age—and a girl who’s seven and a boy who’s four. Geoff’s second sister has four kids, but they’re kind of little—I think the oldest is six. Then there’s the one with the two-year-old twins.”
“Rob, for heaven sake, when did you learn all this?” Kerry asked.
“The other night at dinner. Geoff was talking about them. You were kind of out of it, I guess. I mean, I could tell you weren’t listening. Anyhow I think it will be cool to go down there. He says his mother’s a good cook.”
As they were leaving Closter and entering Alpine, Kerry glanced
down at her directions. “It’s not far now.”
Five minutes later they drove up a winding road to Jason Arnott’s European-style mansion. The bright sun played on the structure, a breathtaking combination of stone, stucco, brick and wood, with towering leaded-pane windows.
“Wow!” Robin said.
“Sort of makes you realize how modestly we live,” Kerry agreed, as she parked in the semicircular driveway.
Jason Arnott opened the door for them before they could find the buzzer. His greeting was cordial. “Ms. McGrath, and is this your assistant?”
“I said it would be an unofficial visit, Mr. Arnott,” Kerry said, as she introduced Robin. “Perhaps she could wait here while we talk.” She indicated a chair near a life-size bronze sculpture of two knights in combat.
“Oh, no. She’ll be much more comfortable in the little study.” Arnott indicated a room to the left of the entrance hall. “You and I can go into the library. It’s just past the study.”
This place is like a museum, Kerry thought as she followed Arnott. She would have loved to have had the chance to stop and study the exquisite wall coverings, the fine furniture, the paintings, the total harmony of the interior. Keep your mind on what you’re doing, she warned herself. You promised him you’d only be half an hour.
When she and Arnott were seated opposite each other on handsome morocco armchairs, she said, “Mr. Arnott, Robin suffered some facial injuries in a car accident several weeks ago and was treated by Dr. Charles Smith.”
Arnott raised his eyebrows. “The Dr. Charles Smith who was Suzanne Reardon’s father?”
“Exactly. On each of two follow-up visits, I saw a patient in his office who bore a startling resemblance to Suzanne Reardon.”
Arnott stared at her. “By coincidence, I hope. Surely you’re not saying that he is deliberately recreating Suzanne?”
“An interesting choice of words, Mr. Arnott. I’m here because, as I told you on the phone, I need to know Suzanne better. I need to know what her relationship with her father really was, and so far as you knew it, with her husband.”
Arnott leaned back, looked up at the ceiling and clasped his hands under his chin.
That’s so posed, Kerry thought. He’s doing it to impress me. Why?
“Let me start with meeting Suzanne. It would be about twelve years ago now. One day she simply rang the bell. I must tell you she was an extraordinarily beautiful girl. She introduced herself and explained that she and her husband were in the process of building a house in the neighborhood, that she wanted to furnish it with antiques and that she’d heard that I went with good friends to assist them in their bidding at auctions.
“I told her that that was true, but I did not consider myself an interior designer, nor did I intend to be considered a full-time advisor.”
“Do you charge for your services?”
“In the beginning I did not. But then, as I realized I was having a very good time accompanying pleasant people on these jaunts, warning them off bad bargains, helping them to get fine objects at excellent prices, I set a fair commission rate. At first I was not interested in becoming involved with Suzanne. She was rather smothering, you see.”
“But you did become involved?”
Arnott shrugged. “Ms. McGrath, when Suzanne wanted something, she got it. Actually, when she realized that flirting outrageously with me was only annoying me, she turned on the charm in a different way. She could be most amusing. Eventually we became very good friends; in fact, I still miss her very much. She added a great deal to my parties.”
“Did Skip come with her?”
“Seldom. He was bored, and frankly my guests did not find him simpatico. Now don’t misunderstand me. He was a well-mannered and intelligent young man, but he was different from most of the people I know. He was the kind of man who got up early, worked hard and had no interest in idle chatter—as he publicly told Suzanne one night when he left her here and went home.”
“Did she have her own car that evening?”
Arnott smiled. “Suzanne never had a problem getting a ride.”
“How would you judge the relationship between Suzanne and Skip?”
“Unraveling. I knew them for the last two years of their marriage. At first they seemed to be very fond of each other, but eventually it became clear that she was bored with him. Toward the end they did very little together.”
“Dr. Smith said that Skip was wildly jealous of Suzanne and that he threatened her.”
“If he did, Suzanne did not confide that to me.”
“How well did you know Dr. Smith?”
“As well as any of her friends did, I suppose. If I went into New York with Suzanne on days when his office was closed, he often managed to show up and join us. Finally, though, his attention seemed to annoy her. She’d say things like, ‘Serves me right for telling him that we were coming here today.’ ”
“Did she show him she was annoyed?”
“Just as she was quite public in displaying her indifference to Skip, she made no effort to hide her impatience with Dr. Smith.”
“You knew that she had been raised by her mother and a stepfather?”
“Yes. She told me her growing-up years were miserable. Her stepsisters were jealous of her looks. She once said, ‘Talk about Cinderella—in some ways I lived her life.’ ”
That answers my next question, Kerry thought. Obviously Suzanne had not confided to Arnott that she had grown up as the plain sister named Susie.
A sudden question occurred to her. “What did she call Dr. Smith?”
Arnott paused. “Either Doctor or Charles,” he said after a moment.
“Not Dad.”
“Never. At least not that I recall.” Arnott looked pointedly at his watch.
“I know I promised not to take up too much of your time, but there’s one more thing I need to know. Was Suzanne involved with another man? Specifically, was she seeing Jimmy Weeks?”
Arnott seemed to consider before answering. “I introduced her to Jimmy Weeks in this very room. It was the one and only time he was ever here. They were quite taken with each other. As you may know, there has always been a formidable feeling of power about Weeks, and that instantly attracted Suzanne. And, of course, Jimmy always had an eye for a beautiful woman. Suzanne bragged that after they met, he started appearing frequently at the Palisades Country Club, where she spent a lot of her time. And I think Jimmy was already a member there as well.”
Kerry thought about the caddie’s statement as she asked, “Was she happy about that?”
“Oh, very. Although I don’t think she let Jimmy know it. She was aware that he had a number of girlfriends, and she enjoyed making him jealous. Do you remember one of the early scenes in Gone With the Wind, the one where Scarlett collects everyone else’s beaux?”
“Yes, I do.”
“That was our Suzanne. One would think she’d have outgrown that. After all, it’s quite an adolescent trick, isn’t it? But there wasn’t a man Suzanne didn’t try to dazzle. It didn’t make her very popular with women.”
“And Dr. Smith’s reaction to her flirting?”
“Outraged, I would say. I think that if it had been possible, Smith would have built a guardrail around her to keep others away from her, pretty much the way museums put guardrails around their most precious objects.”
You don’t know how close you are to the mark, Kerry thought. She recalled what Deidre Reardon had said about Dr. Smith’s relationship to Suzanne, that he treated her as an object. “If your theory is correct, Mr. Arnott, wouldn’t that be a reason for Dr. Smith to resent Skip Reardon?”
“Resent him? I think it went deeper than that. I think he hated him.”
“Mr. Arnott, did you have any reason to think that Suzanne was given jewelry by any man other than her husband and father?”
“If she was, I wasn’t privy to it. Suzanne had some very fine pieces, that I do know. Skip bought her a number of things every year for her birthday, and
again for Christmas, always after she pointed out exactly what she wanted. She also had several one-of-a-kind older Cartier pieces that I believe her father gave her.”
Or so he said, Kerry thought. She got up. “Mr. Arnott, do you think Skip Reardon killed Suzanne?”
He rose to his feet. “Ms. McGrath, I consider myself very knowledgeable about antique art and furnishings. I’m less good at judging people. But isn’t it true that love and money are the two greatest reasons to kill? I’m sorry to say that in this case both of these reasons seem to apply to Skip. Don’t you agree?”
* * *
From a window, Jason watched Kerry’s car disappear down the driveway. Thinking over their brief exchange, he felt he had been sufficiently detailed to seem helpful, sufficiently vague so that she, like both the prosecution and defense ten years ago, would decide there was no purpose in questioning him further.
Do I think Skip Reardon killed Suzanne? No, I don’t, Ms. McGrath, he thought. I think that, like far too many men, Skip might have been capable of murdering his wife. Only that night someone else beat him to it.
72
Skip Reardon had endured what was arguably one of the worst weeks of his life. Seeing the skepticism in Assistant Prosecutor Kerry McGrath’s eyes when she had come to visit him had completed the job that the news about possibly no more appeals had begun.
It was as though a Greek chorus were chanting the words endlessly inside his head: “Twenty more years before even the possibility of parole.” Over and over again. All week, instead of reading or watching television at night, Skip had stared at the framed pictures on the walls of his cell.
Beth and his mother were in most of them. Some of the pictures went back to seventeen years ago, when he was twenty-three years old and had just begun dating Beth. She had just started her first teaching job, and he had just launched Reardon Construction Company.